Read and Gone

by Allison Brook

  “Thanks.” After she blew her nose, she said, “I knew better than to come here, but I couldn’t stay away.”

  “You must have cared for him a lot.”

  She nodded.

  I wanted to advise her not to waste her emotions on a man who had had many affairs and was a thief to boot, but I kept quiet.

  “We were in love.”

  “Jennifer…”

  She gave a little laugh. “I know. You probably think I’m a foolish innocent that got involved with a Lothario. But it wasn’t like that between Benton and me.”

  I pointed to a small coffee shop across the street. “Would you like to have a cup of coffee?”

  She sighed. “I may as well. This has been building up for weeks. I need to talk to someone and get it off my chest.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Angela’s eyes popped wide open like a frog’s. “You’re telling me Benton was really in love with Jennifer and ready to leave Mariel?”

  “That’s what she said. More wine?” I asked, holding up the bottle. We were sitting in my living room the following evening.

  “Of course. By the way, dinner was superb.”

  “Thank you.” I refreshed both our glasses and sipped. “But anyone can make an omelet stuffed with mushrooms and cheese.”

  “Here’s one gal who can’t. Steve wishes I’d learn how to make some of my mom’s recipes so we can have great dinners when we’re married. I told him he could do the cooking.”

  “How did he take it?” I studied Angela. She and Steve were talking marriage?

  “Not that well, but he’s agreed to think about it since he’s better in the kitchen than I am. But getting back to Jennifer, what else did she say?”

  “Once we sat down and ordered muffins and coffee, she was like a faucet you couldn’t shut off. She’d met Benton when she went into his store to buy her niece a pendant for her birthday almost four months ago. They found each other easy to talk to, and when he asked if she’d like to have coffee with him, she readily agreed. They met a few times just to talk. She cried on his shoulder about how unhappy she was with Paul. Being out of work had made him distant and grumpy. Even worse, after going on interviews where nothing panned out, he quit looking for another job. She resented having to sell their second car and doing without anything but the basics, including handing over their puppy to her mother. She’d had it when he told her to get a job that paid more money.

  “Benton told Jennifer he’d had enough of Mariel’s rules and regulations. She was ice cold as a person and only concerned with appearances.” I looked at Angela. “What does your mother think of Mariel?”

  “Mom thinks Mariel’s a lovely person who married beneath her. She said Mariel comes across as formal and dogmatic until you get to know her, but she’s warm and has a terrific sense of humor.”

  “Did Mariel ever complain about Benton?”

  “Not in so many words, but Mom had the feeling Mariel was planning to sue for divorce.”

  “Oh! I wonder if that’s because Benton told her about Jennifer. Or somehow Mariel found out that this affair was more serious than the others.”

  “No idea,” Angela said. “Mariel didn’t say.”

  “Jennifer said after a few meetings, things got hot and heavy. After they made love in a motel, Benton admitted he’d had other affairs, but that this time he’d fallen in love with her and wanted them to spend the rest of their lives together.”

  Angela chortled. “What a romantic story this would be if they weren’t already married to other people.”

  “Anyway, they continued to meet and screw and affirm their love for each other. A few days before Benton was killed, they promised each other they’d tell their respective spouses about their love and that they were leaving Clover Ridge.”

  “Where were they planning to go” Angela asked, downing the last of her wine. “What would they live on?”

  “Good questions. Jennifer was vague about the details. She did mention that Benton told her the store wasn’t doing that well, but he claimed he had a few irons in the fire and promised he’d take care of her. I imagine he had the stolen gems in mind when he said that.”

  Angela made a disparaging sound. “And Jennifer fell for it? The way I see it, she was leaving one loser for another.”

  “You’re so much more practical, Angela. And you’re forgetting one thing—Jennifer was madly in love with Benton. Why would she doubt what he told her?”

  “So, it looks as though both Mariel Parr and Paul Darby knew their spouses were leaving them. Which makes them both murder suspects with a motive.”

  “Not necessarily,” I said. “Jennifer wasn’t able to talk to Benton in private those last few days. When she asked if he’d told Mariel, he gave her a vague answer. Which made her suspect he hadn’t told her.”

  “And Jennifer?”

  “She admitted that she hadn’t told Paul, but he’d found out somehow and shouted at her the day that Benton gave his program at the library.”

  Angela stretched her arms overhead. “Do you think Benton got cold feet about leaving his life in Clover Ridge?”

  “I don’t know, but if Jennifer sensed he was having second thoughts—”

  “Then she could very well have been the person who killed him.”

  Angela left shortly afterward. As I put the kitchen in order, I ran through our conversation about what I’d learned from Jennifer. It raised more questions and possibilities. It wasn’t unheard of for a murderer to be so upset after killing the person she loved that she’d act grief-stricken as though the loss had been caused by someone other than herself.

  Was Jennifer capable of stabbing her lover, given the right provocation?

  I puffed up the living room sofa cushions then got ready for bed. Smoky Joe jumped onto the bed to join me. As I stroked his back, I realized it was only Friday night. The entire weekend stretched before me … without Dylan.

  * * *

  Saturday morning I pulled myself out of bed at nine o’clock. My mood was as gray as the weather outside. I turned on the radio and switched it off when a silly Christmas song chirped on. I was as grumpy as Scrooge at the start of A Christmas Carol. I nibbled on a piece of toast and drank some coffee, then called Jim at the hospital.

  “Hi, Caro. Coming to visit me later?”

  “Of course. How are you feeling?”

  “Pretty good. The doc thinks I can leave in a couple of days.”

  My heart began to pound. “And you’ll be staying with me?”

  “Sure thing, if you’ll still have me. I have business to see to, don’t I?”

  Only a few days to find them, and I haven’t the slightest idea where the gems might be. “I’m not working today. I’ll stop by this afternoon.”

  “I’d be eternally grateful if you brought me a newspaper and a bunch of grapes. The food here is awful.”

  I laughed. “Sounds like you’re on the mend.”

  “One more thing, Caro.” He sounded wistful.

  “What is it?”

  “Do you think you could start calling me ‘Dad’ again?”

  “I—I’ll think about it.”

  His request was disconcerting. I’d started calling him Jim when I was fifteen and made myself admit that he didn’t take care of me as a father should. I found it hurt less if I thought of him as an adult not attached to me in any special way. I might refer to him as “my dad” or “my father” in conversation, but I hadn’t called him “Dad” in half my lifetime. The way I saw it, he no longer deserved the name.

  But things had changed recently. Jim was a patient in the hospital and soon would be staying in my home. Though he’d come to Clover Ridge in pursuit of his missing loot, I couldn’t deny that he really cared about me. I found it confusing because I could no longer think of him as an insensitive ogre. I smiled as I realized I was actually looking forward to visiting him that afternoon.

  However, I had something else to take care of first. I reached for my ce
ll phone and looked up the phone number of the Carlton Manor Nursing Home, where Evelyn’s friend Morgan Fuller was residing—if he was still among the living.

  “Carlton Manor. Thelma speaking. How can I help you?”

  “Could you please tell me if Morgan Fuller is still a resident?”

  Thelma laughed, a full-throated happy sound. “He most certainly is. And with whom am I speaking?”

  “Carrie Singleton. I’m a friend of a friend. Someone who knew Morgan some years ago.”

  “I see.” After a pause, she said, “Morgan doesn’t get many visitors. Are you planning to visit him?”

  “I was hoping to stop by now. Is there anything special he likes to eat?”

  “Chocolate. Morgan loves chocolate. He’ll be thrilled to have a visitor. It’s been some time since anyone’s come by to see him.”

  After such a hearty endorsement, I decided to bring him chocolates as well as Evelyn’s suggestion of linzer cookies. I asked for directions and slipped into my parka. I felt like a Girl Scout carrying out Evelyn’s good deed. I’d spend half an hour with the old gentleman and then be on my way. My own Christmas good deed for the day.

  In town I stopped in the gift shop for a copy of The New York Times and a small box of Godiva chocolates before walking over to the supermarket on Mercer Street to buy two pounds of grapes and linzer cookies. My gift shopping done, I climbed into my car and drove to the Carlton Manor.

  The large white residence set back on a rising lawn was very similar in architectural style to the shops and houses situated around the Green. I parked in the side parking lot and, chocolates and cookies in hand, walked around to the front entrance. A smiling, gray-haired woman greeted me, her hand outstretched.

  “Welcome to Carlton Manor.”

  I recognized her voice. “Hello, Thelma. I’m Carrie Singleton. I’m here to see Morgan Fuller.”

  “Of course!” Thelma covered my hand in both of hers. “Related to Bosco?”

  “His great-niece.”

  “Ah.” Her smile grew wider. “Lovely man, and your Aunt Harriet too. Morgan’s in room 107. Through the great room, then turn left. His bed’s the one closest to the window. I believe you’ll find him reading. He usually reads before lunch, which we serve at eleven forty-five.”

  Which gives me thirty-five minutes. Just the right amount of time for a visit. “Thank you.”

  I walked through the pleasant-looking room filled with armchairs and sofas facing a large-screen TV, though most of the eight or ten residents present were in wheelchairs. The place was certainly decorated for the season, with a beautiful Christmas tree in one corner and a silver menorah on the mantel above the fireplace. I continued on down the hall, beset by a twinge of nervousness. As head of P & E, I was getting good at relating to patrons, finding the right words to put someone at ease or resolve a minor problem, but meeting Evelyn’s friend was something else entirely. What’s more, I wasn’t in the library, which had quickly become my safety zone.

  Morgan was fast asleep in a lounge chair beside his bed, with a book open facedown on his lap. I hated to wake him, but I hadn’t come this far to abort my mission.

  “Morgan,” I said softly. “Morgan, wake up.”

  “Shake his shoulder,” came the advice from Morgan’s roommate. “That’s what the nurses do when they have to wake him.”

  I smiled my thanks, and the man in the next bed returned to his TV program. I stepped closer to Morgan. He wore a blue button-down shirt and jeans. He was thin, almost gaunt, and though his face was well lined, I could tell by his high forehead and even features that he must have been rather handsome in his younger years.

  When I touched his shoulder, he let out a rumble of a snore that made me laugh.

  “Wha—what it is?” Slowly he opened his blue eyes. “Is it time for lunch?”

  “Not yet. My name’s Carrie Singleton. Hello, Morgan Fuller.”

  To my surprise, he thrust out his hand and we shook. His grip was stronger than I’d expect for a man about ninety-five years old.

  “Do I know you?”

  “No, we’ve never met.”

  He grinned. “At my age I’m never sure if I’m talking to someone I used to know years ago or to a stranger.”

  “A friend of yours asked me to come and visit you.”

  “Who?”

  I glanced over at Morgan’s roommate and was happy to see he’d fallen asleep. “Evelyn Havers. She said she used to visit you around Christmas. I’ve come because she can’t.”

  “Where are my manners? Please sit down.” Morgan pointed to his bed.

  I sat.

  “Evelyn Havers,” he mused. “I haven’t seen her in years. How is she doing? She and Robert were the nicest neighbors anyone could ask for.”

  I leaned closer to Morgan. “Actually, Evelyn died about six years ago. I’m one of the few people who can see her when she visits the library where I work.” I waited for his reaction, hoping that Evelyn was right about him. “She sends you her love.”

  “Does she?”

  “Yes, she does.”

  Morgan thought this over and burst out laughing. “And she haunts the library. No big surprise. How she loved that place. Does that sourpuss niece of hers still work there?”

  “Oh, yes. Still sour.”

  This time we both had a good laugh.

  “Sorry to hear about Evelyn, though. So she asked you to come visit me. That was mighty nice of her.”

  “Oh, here. I almost forgot.” I handed him the two boxes I was holding. “Merry Christmas. Evelyn said you love linzer cookies, but Thelma said you love chocolate.”

  “So you brought them both! How sweet of you. I’ll sample each after lunch. Thank you, my dear.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said. “Enjoy!”

  “I certainly will.” He looked at me, his eyes narrowing. “You’re a pretty lass. Do you have a beau?”

  “I’m not sure,” I answered, deliberately vague. But I got the sudden urge to say more. “There is someone, except we’re on opposite sides of a situation. It’s complicated.”

  Morgan placed a gnarled hand on mine. “Trust me, if you love him and he’s good to you, make it work.”

  “I’ll try to.”

  “Tell me, what do you do in the library?”

  I found myself telling Morgan about my job and how much I’d grown to love it. We must have been talking for half an hour when I glanced at my watch. “Here we’ve been gabbing away, and it’s almost time for you to go to lunch.”

  “It can wait. I’d like to talk to you about something … private.”

  An aide came into the room. “You fellas ready to eat?”

  “I am,” Morgan’s roommate said.

  The aide helped him into his wheelchair.

  “I’ll be there soon,” Morgan said.

  “Shall I send someone to help you?”

  Morgan glanced at me.

  “I’ll bring him to the dining room in a few minutes,” I said.

  “All right,” the aide said. “Don’t dawdle too long.”

  When I turned back to Morgan, he was shaking his head. “This place is run like an army camp. You’d think something awful would happen if we didn’t eat just when they ordered us to.”

  “What do you want to talk to me about?” I asked, hoping it was neither death nor the afterlife. I hadn’t given either subject much thought.

  Though no one was in hearing range, Morgan leaned closer to me. When he spoke, he kept his voice soft.

  “As I come to the end of my life, I think of the people I knew and how I related to them. I tried to be honest and fair, but things don’t always work out the way we want them to.”

  I nodded, eager to hear his story.

  “I was a carpenter all my working life. At first I worked for a large company. The owner wasn’t much interested in what kind of a job we did, as long as the article got finished on time. Some of the men I worked with were sloppy. They didn’t take pride in their wor
k. They were simply after their paychecks.

  “As soon as I’d saved up some money, I opened my own shop and did things my way. Carefully, with attention to detail. My name and my reputation were important to me, and I did the best work I knew how. People got to hear about me. They hired me to build cabinets and chests, bookcases, and whatnot. Soon I had more work than I could handle.

  “I took on a helper. Over the years I took on more. I liked to get them young, so I could teach them the trade properly. No short cuts. No sloppy work. Some of them went out on their own. One or two stayed with me.” Morgan released a deep sigh.

  “I was in my mid-sixties when I hired Bert Crowley. He was a pleasant young man. He had no training as a carpenter, no training of any kind, but he wanted a job so I took him on. At first he was very eager to learn, but after a while the restlessness took over everything he did. He’d be working on a piece—sanding or sawing. Next thing, I’d see him ambling over to one of the other guys for a chat.

  “I had a no-smoking policy because of all the wood in the workshop, and simply because I can’t stand the smell of nicotine burning. Bert used to ask for coffee breaks, but I smelled the cigarettes on him when he came in from outside.

  “I got to thinking it was time to cut him loose. I hated doing it. Hated to give up on someone I figured had the hands to be a good carpenter. But Bert was getting too edgy to make it through the day. Later on I learned he had a drinking problem and it took all his effort not to drink on the job.” Morgan shook his head ruefully. “If only I’d picked up on it, I could have helped him.

  “Anyway, one day I had to leave early. The three other men working with me were out at customers’ homes putting up kitchen cabinets or what-have-you. Bert needed to finish a few things in the shop. I told him to work till five, then lock up. For some reason I’ll never understand, he took it to mean he could smoke and work. Later he told me he put the cigarette down for a minute to answer the phone, and before he could do anything, some shavings caught on fire. I understand the fire department came pretty darn fast, but it was too late. The projects we were working on were burned or ruined. Half the shop—the section where I kept the equipment—damaged beyond repair.”